


salt brittled sepia

by lilacs (museicalitea)



Category: Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Angst, F/M, POV Second Person, Poetry, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-10 06:10:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1156067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/museicalitea/pseuds/lilacs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her first love hurt her the most.</p><p>(But it also left her in love for the longest—because who was she to deny the man in grey, who set her heart on fire and never gave her a reason to put it out?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	salt brittled sepia

It is hard to find at first.

The ruined one, they say.

He said once that they are all ruined.

 

Time has had her way with it;

Locked it into passionate embraces

Given dust leave to lie with it in bed

Brought countless fingers to caress and hold

Leaving lovebites where they clung too tightly.

 

Leather on leather

Finger on paper

And it is dry, creased

Crackling under your touch

As it sighs as it never sighed before.

It is out of practice.

Perhaps you are, too.

 

The city stares up, one perfect photograph

Blurred and blackened at the edges.

It is beautiful, dusty and dirty

Sheltering villains who prowl the streets

Raining on women in lace bodices

Heels of buttoned shoes clipping the cobblestones.

 

He is caught too, smiling

Frowning

You question.

It’s hard to tell

Under the sepia.

 

He’s not brown, though.

He is grey

Mysterious and pinstriped

Cold and clever

And watching

Always watching

Waiting.

 

The paper snaps under your hardened hand.

It is yellow now

Brittle and stained with salt

Water

A product of too many nights

Too afraid to throw it away

Too afraid to leave it undamaged.

 

The spine gave up long ago

It has split

Cracked

Broken and resigned

As you hold it close.

 

He is not smiling

He is not frowning

It would be easier without the sepia

It drains life of its colour

Feeling.

 

The violet hour strikes.

You leave the pages crackling

No water.

Just salt

You ignore his stare as you hurry away

How proud he would be

Of how you burn in shame.

 

He burned you once

Set fire to your heart

You never put it out

Because it meant

He was always with you

Even when he was killing you

From the inside.

 

But he’s not the fire.

That’s you.

He is the smoke

Lingering and choking

And you know you can’t resist

His hold.

 

You burn him now

Cold and unfeeling

Tears no longer on the page.

 

(they’re in your heart

fighting the fire

losing the battle

because love crumbles less easily

than paper)


End file.
